Hi everyone! Welcome to the crimsonmochi blog. Feel free to call me Crimson as well. I am a Black nonbinary writer; I go by they/them and use mostly gender-neutral terms when referring to myself. I am diametrically queer and identify as pansexual. I like to write whatever goes through my brain :3
Policies.
I would like to preface this section by saying that I write whatever I want; I can choose not to write, and I can choose to write. I don't bind myself to a schedule, I'm not obligated to fulfill a request, and I reserve the right to delete my work at any point.
─ ✧ MDNI. No exceptions. If I find you interacting and you've listed that you're underaged, I will block you. I value protecting minors online; I promise there's content for you out there.
─ ✧ Writing Boundaries. If you ask me to write things such as non-con/dubious consent content, the answer will most likely be no. You can always ask, but be fully prepared to be ignored/denied.
─ ✧ Respect. I don't tolerate being berated, being sexualized, being spammed or being harassed. Treat me as you would treat anyone you find on the street. I am a human being, not a machine.
─ ✧ AI. I am fully against generative AI. Do not use my work for chatbots such as c.ai, chai, janitor ai and platforms such as. Hard no.
─ ✧ Interactions. This blog is inclusive of all identities, and I try my best to reflect that in my writing. If you find that I have gotten something wrong about culture, history, etc., please let me know so I can correct my work. Feel free to request works more specific to the reader as well! I cannot always guarantee full accuracy but I would love to be able to write for all types of people.
Commissions.
You can commission me through Tumblr asks OR through my ko-fi.
gyno! Gojo getting distracted by his patient's coochie (you) inappropriate workplace behavior, breaking oaths, they're awkward lol, fingering, orgasms, spitting, talking you through it, nerdjo, he's shy even knuckles deep inside you <3 (3k)
"Are you comfortable?" Doctor Gojo asks with a friendly smile, washing his hands and looking over his shoulder at you.
Are you comfortable when you're in nothing but an open hospital gown and your feet are in stirrups!? In front of the most gorgeous man you've ever seen!?
No, you're not. You're flustered and embarrassed despite his calm demeanor and how he does everything with ease. You bite down on your lower lip, clutching the little sheet thrown over your lap, nodding.
He dries his hands that you can't help but look at a little too long. Elegant fingers, thick ones that make you blush thinking of going inside you. It's got you swallowing nervously. Trying to remember it's a check up not a damn date.
He's just doing his job, slipping you a little smile, blue eyes glimmering in a myriad of shades. "Latex allergy sweetheart?"
"Huh?" How long are his fingers!?
"Do you have an allergy to latex?" You flush again, shaking your head. "Perfect."
Doctor Gojo sits in front of you, slipping on those gloves and then putting a comforting hand on your thigh. You fucking moan.
You moan.
This is so embarrassing!?
"Sorry," you whisper, shutting your eyes.
"Is it the cramps? I saw you were having some issues with that," he asks softly, white hair falling just a bit over his brow.
"Um. Yes." You have been cramping alot, but this was definitely not that. You try to remember why you're here, looking at him again, almost unable to handle the eye contact. "Really bad ones before my period."
"Scans were all good," he lifts your sheet up and pauses just a moment, eyeing your cunt in what he attempts to do professionally. Yet he can't help but almost spill out how pretty it is, that would not be okay to say, even if he is an expert. "Everything looks great actually."
Yiur thighs clamp shut. He raises a brow. "Sorry!"
"Relax," he gently helps you spread your thighs, blushing himself when he sees you're glistening already. He can't mention it of course but it's dripping between your lips. "Have you had an exam?"
"Of course, just... um... nervous." He hums a bit to himself, parting your folds with soft gloves, you almost moan again, biting down hard. He looks up at you, leaning down just a bit, far too close to your cunt.
You're suddenly so insecure! What if it looks weird to him!? What if he can freaking inhale it, does it smell good? You washed it before coming but what if-
"Take a breath," he murmurs, inspecting your insides and almost whimpering when he sees your hole fucking wink at him. "You're tense, and it'll hurt if you're this tight."
Fuck.
Dr. Gojo just called a patient tight.
"I mean... tight muscles," he's stammering for a moment, you're just too pretty and now you have him nervous. "That's good though, are you um... doing kegals."
You blink.
"Yes? Can you just... tell?" He sighs, trying to remember why the fuck you're here, slipping a finger inside to just the tip, and you clench him over the glove, soaking it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Yes your muscle response is impeccable," he wants to feel it clenching his tongue, gather all those juices and suck them off his fingers. "Try to relax because for this exam I have to get two fingers inside you. "You're small down there."
"Oh of course," you want to fall off the face of the earth when he pulls his finger back. You feel slippery arousal pouring down your slit, his soft sigh tickling your thigh. "Did you already put that gel stuff on?"
"No," you blush again, so hot your cheeks are on fire, realizing that's all you. "I can but you seem to have a good amount of... natural lubricant."
You're gonna die.
"Want me to grab the cold gel?" He teases, plump lips curling up, you almost ask him to spit on it, but you manage some sense.
"No, it's okay, I trust you," you shouldn't, not when he leans down and spits right on his fingers and watches his own spit move on puffy lips.
He can't do that he's a fucking doctor. How many pussies has he seen!? But the thrill of knowing it's on you had his cock throbbing underneath those purple scrubs, he covers it with his labcoat, watching the bubbles dissolve on your glistening cunt.
"How do you usually loosen up? Don't want to hurt you." You shut your eyes, spreading your thighs more for him.
"Like how do I..."
"You can feel comfortable with me, we need to find out what's making you cramp up too."
"I tense really bad before sex too, it doesn't feel the best."
"Oh..." Satoru eases a finger inside again, curving it up and watching you jerk. "When is the last time you had sex?"
"Like a year or two, I just use my rose - Oh my god!" You cover your face again, eyes rolling back when he crooks those fingers. "Mmh!"
"Don't be shy, masturbation is normal and healthy even. Orgasms are good for you," Dr. Gojo pulls his finger out to watch you drop down onto the thin paper you're laying on, exhaling against the sight. "Clitoral stimulation helps you?"
You nod, gasping when he slips a finger and finds it, the sounds of your wet cunt echoing in the room. "Yes, it does."
"Is it all right if I stimulate it to loosen you up? If not tell me."
You arch your hips, lashes fluttering, it takes a lot for Gojo not to yank off his gloves and fuck into you. "Yes um if you think it'll help?"
"It might," he runs a circle and watches that clit twitch against his thumb, more slick pouring from you. "You do respond well to it. Did your partners do this?"
"No they sucked," Satoru chuckles a bit, and the mood lightens, he acts perfectly professional while he's pressing on your clit, pleasure rushing through you. "That is relaxing."
"I want my patient comfortable," he murmurs, he shouldn't be allowed to look like that and sound like that. Your cunt is spasming when he slips his finger back in, the messy sounds so loud you bury your face. "It's a good thing, when your natural lubricant flows. It means your hormones are doing a good job."
"Oh," Satoru crooks his finger up, eyeing you under snowy lashes then, your breasts rising and falling, thighs trembling. "I do feel um... more... relaxed."
"That's good. You're doing such a good job for me," you're done for, his finger hitting that spot in slick walls, thumb still massaging your jumping clit. "Orgasms can help cramps too, even during your period."
"I can't um touch it during that," You're arching for more, thighs spread so wide, hands damn near ripping the paper underneath you, it tears just a bit and echoes in his impeccably clean office.
"That's understandable but your partner could," you laugh a little.
"None of them would have fucked me on my period - I mean!? Um, stimulated me."
"Some people are squeamish," he starts to ease two inside, you're trembling at the stretch. "It's natural, periods. And it's normal to get cramps, we just have to find a good way to help them."
"I see, ngh!" He pauses at your little moan, juices flowing down his fingers, tall body hunched just a bit over you. "Oh my god I'm so sorry."
"It’s too much for you, sweetheart? Two?"
You nod just a bit, and he sighs, pulling back his hand then.
"You're too tight, that could be why you don't find sex so enjoyable if you're not getting off first - I mean, having orgasms before intercourse."
"That could be um, I'll loosen up so you can do the exam," you hear his glove smack then.
"It may help if I don't wear a glove, are you okay with that? It may help your nerves."
Satoru needs to feel your gummy walls without a dumb fucking barrier. You're blinking at him, seeing him take one off, then the other.
"My hands are sterile," he tries to hide his feral grin, knowing he's fucking depraved for this, but his cock is just leaking too much. "I'll try and you tell me what you prefer."
"Yes, of course," Satoru's fingers brush down your slit into your hole, sinking in - slippery from you, buried to the knuckle suddenly. It feels so good you can't hold back your little whimper, hips bucking up. You feel every line and callous of his thick fingers, cunt gripping him like she's scared he'll leave. "Oh!"
Satoru's cock leaks at the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers in like that, the sight of it so greedy, stretched around his bare hand is too much. His fingers pull back and then insert again, and again, a messy squelch echoing in the room, gossamer swirls of your arousal coating his fingers.
Fuck he's going against every oath he took and looking for more to break.
Is eating out patients not a good method of exam? Surely your taste -
He can't do all that! He shouldn't even be fingering your messy cunt like this, pads of them curving up in that spot that makes you twitch and gush. Your cheeks are flush, eyes rolling back, hips just rolling when he runs a thumb over your clit once more.
"Eyes on me, sweetheart," you barely focus, stretched so full and stuffed more from him than you had been any man. Your lashes flutter at his command, he leans down just a bit as he works you. "There you go, you're loosening up for me. Does it feel good like this?"
Are you having a filthy daydream of the pretty blue eyed doctor, or is he talking you through an orgasm?
"I... um... y-yes," your whisper escapes your lips with a sigh, Doctor Gojo's expert fingers curling up with precision, feeling you spasm and tighten, slick and hot around his digits. You're pulsing already, making him have to palm himself to adjust, before darting his thumb back to your clit. "Mnh... Doctor Gojo, I..."
"Your muscles are responding so well," fuck is everything sexy from his mouth? You're trying not to cum, but failing spectacularly, a dripping wet mess soaking his bare hand, the sounds of his fingers and your needy cunt loud. "Your pussy- I mean, um!? Vagina/vulva ah it's very um... pretty - healthy!?"
Satoru Gojo's glasses fog up just a bit, sweat beading on his brow, he doesn't know what's come over him - but he knows he needs you to cum for him, and he's not stopping until you do. Do you squirt, do you drip, do you get creamy?
Fuck he must know - for scientific purposes, that's why he's a doctor, right? Love of science and medicine?
How many oaths would it break if he were to breed his patient?
"I'm... your fingers ngh they're thick and - I mean!? Thorough! They're so thorough," you're rolling your hips up for every filthy thrust, Satoru leans low and practically inhales you, you feel something wet slap your clit, his eyes feral and black then behind lenses. "F-fuck... I mean!?"
"S'okay, we're - hah - helping the cramps, r-right?" He's scissoring his long fucking fingers in and out of your now sloppy little cunt, your nails press into his forearms, just making him moan softly.
"Yes, helping them, mhm," your eyes roll back in your skull, nails digging in his pale skin and leaving cresenct marks, the sweet scent of your arousal filling his senses, overtaking the sterile alcohol in the room. God if he could bottle your pussy juice he would. "You're s-such an amazing um... d-doctor!"
"Thank you, I t-take my... career... so seriously," he's about to bust in his pants, damn near acting as if he's never seen a pussy before yours, but he's not ever been affected. You're pulsing and tightening down then, clamping his fingers and sucking them inside, teeth clenched. "Remember, eyes on me, sweetheart. For... medical reasons."
Your eyes focus on his, he crooks those fingers up one more time, a mess pouring as he does, and he watches his pretty patient cum on his fingers. You're so loud he has to pull up, slamming a big palm on your cute lips, muffling your desperate cries as he shoves them in fully, heel of his hand massaging your needy clit.
"Mmph!" You're blacking out nearly, hardly able to keep that eye contact, with the doctor whose glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, his lips spit slicked. You're gushing down his fingers, louder and louder as he eases them in and out slower, pushing you over the edge again.
"Fuck," he murmurs, cursing at his lack of professionality, leaning back to see just how you cum. "Creamy, fuck."
"H-huh?" Your voice is still muffled, he moans, looking and the milky ring formed at the bottom of his fingers, he almost sinks to his knees with you still in that fucking hospital gown, instead gently easing them out, watching your hole twitch as he spreads your lips.
"Your response to stimulation, it's scientific you see - creaming or squirting."
"Oh, it is?" He feels himself pressing hard against his boxers, leaking through and leaving a wet spot in his scrubs, blush furiously smattered on his cheeks. "Which is better?"
Anything you do.
"They're both healthy responses," he wants to suck his goddamn fingers so badly, but he has already crossed every fucking line known to man, so instead he hovers a moment, wanting to ask about you. who are you, are you single - it says yes on your chart sure, but still. What do you like? Do you play video games?
He's imagining a date right now - him, Doctor Gojo, a man who's all about his business can't stop getting flustered from your pretty little pussy that's leaking your cum still. He turns then, unsure of what to say, as your thighs tremble, your breath quickening.
You feel so embarrased! You're thinking he wanted you to cum, what if he was just... like helping? Examining? You've never even really been to a gyno before! You hastily put a sheet on, looking down nervously as he stands there, fingers still in your slick.
"I'm so sorry!"
"What!? Why? Did you um... enjoy the exam?" He asks, you nod shyly, he is so close to busting he has to do something. "I'll be right back with your uh... results, just hold on, okay?"
He rushes to the bathroom, leaning back and shutting the heavy door, sucking your juices off his fingers and moaning, using his other hand to free his aching cock. God it's hard, sticking to his boxers, he has to tug it free and slowly stroke it, moaning softly.
"Go ask her out," he whispers to himself, with every stroke of his hand, every glide around the thickness he almost stuffed inside you on that patient bed. He can't with himself, what is going on, he's never like this!?
God your taste.
"Maybe we could hah go to a movie?" He practices in the mirror, seeing his disheveled appearance, cock loud with every fwap as he jerks it quickly, trying to finish before he looks more suspicious. He whimpers your name and flutters his eyes shut, picturing your cunt grippin' his cock like a vice, moaning as he cums.
White spurts everywhere, all over his hands, all over the sink, he curses with a shaky breath, cleaning it frantically when he rushes back out, and you're all dressed, holding your purse. He falters, suddenly shy as you tuck your hair behind your ear, the taste of your cunt still coating his tongue.
"I ah... think your cramps could be a lot of tension," he manages to say softly. "And elevated hormones, just a bit too much estrogen, but not enough for concern."
"Thank you so much, um, what should I do for them?"
"Warm compress, a hot bath, ibuprofen," his dick, his mouth, his fingers, god use him. "All of that should help a long with..."
"Orgasms?"
"Y-yes, they can help," you rush off suddenly then, and Gojo curses, pacing back and forth in his office.
God why couldn't he ask you out!? After he sucked your cum off his fingers no less?
Suddenly, Satoru has quite an idea - his fucked out brain thinks so, at least. He sits at his little desk and pulls up his laptop, starting to type notes into your patient portal, smirking as he does. He's sure you're the type to check them, so he wonders if you'll get the code here.
***Patient comes in with an exceptionally tight set of muscles, and was having some trouble with cramping, as well as pain during sex. She was a good girl for me beautiful example of a patient, her responses were so good, she listened to all instructions from the doctor. Her cunt vagina was a pretty shape, color, and had a lovely taste consistency.***
Satoru grins, inserting his phone number throughout the message in little places, heart racing.
God he wonders if you like Digimon or Pokemon? He could handle either, if it meant being with you.
***The patient should come back for more visits to work on relaxing her stupidly tight vagina, she took well to treatment, she should cum come more often to make sure she's comfortable and resolves any cramps in the future. Patient should contact me with any questions are you free on friday? or concerns.***
He's sure you never saw the damn notes when a week goes by, when he gets a call, answering it in the middle of lunch. "Gojo speaking."
"Um... hi... it's..."
"Oh my god!? Hi!" He almost knocks his coffee over, so fucking excited he's grinning, he can't see your nervous blush on the other line, chewing your thumb and taking shaky breaths. "How are you?'
"I'm good, I am uh... maybe insane but, would you like to go out-"
"Yes."
You blink then. "Um, I didn't say where?"
"Anywhere." You giggle, and he throbs from that, sighing and shutting his eyes. "I'll take you anywhere."
"All right, Doctor Gojo I'll send you where to pick me up," you hang up shakily, and Gojo makes quite a loud shout that the entire office hears.
"Back to work, ahem." He says, stepping out, but he cannot keep the smile off his face.
Perverted and cute???? bahaha this was a Patreon idea actually those chats get a little insaneee
Synopsis. Satoru had always been a bit unhinged, but he would never hurt anyone without a reason, right? That went against his philosophy, what he stands for... right?
Pairing. yandere! Satoru Gojo x gn! reader
Content. MDNI, obsessive! gojo, sorcerer! gojo, violence, murder, mentions of blood, gorey descriptions, dead dove: do not eat, traumatized! reader, no gendered pronouns for reader, mentions of therapy, mentions of medication, mentions of non-religious consumption of alcohol, no beta we die like―
Word Count. 1.9k
A/N. idk lol im just yappin luv u all
A vetted machinery, operating on the principles instilled within its very core from the start, killing methodically rather than senselessly. Or rather, he thought he did, but all principles are nearly a facade which are easy to cross. A weapon trying so hard to fit amongst a world incapable of restraining him or withstanding his lethality could only sacrifice so much humanity, could only chip away at his mind for so long.
As he stood over your boyfriend's limp body, the heart which was once beating inside the man's chest obliterated and hollowed out by his disastrous technique, Satoru Gojo felt like a man instead of an artillery. A confiscating rush of force, a surging envy to do what he wanted, was all it took. There was no single individual on this earth capable of holding him accountable for what he had just done, what he had accomplished.
He was an impossible force of nature with the power to force anyone he judged to stand in his way to be met with a fatal outcome if he saw fit.
Of course, Satoru had a justification for this seemingly senseless outburst. He deemed you would never be truly free under the guidance and influence of this pathetic, moronic individual you had the nerve to call your boyfriend. What kind of man screams at their other half for wearing clothes that they chose to purchase with their own money and agency?
A real man would bring the whole world to its knees if it meant that their partner could walk the streets protected from wandering eyes, catcalls and harassment. A skirt would not be a threat to months of work on a relationship but rather an emblem of security. Satoru pitied your now-deceased boyfriend for not bothering to look past his futile insecurities but detested him for making you responsible for his fragile ego.
Crimson blood pooled on the floor, a river of what could have been seeping into the ground and threatening to stain Satoru's pristine white shoes. He took a step backwards, abruptly hit by the cool air whirling past his ears, his focus torn from the lifeless corpse before him.
Satoru could have easily disposed of the body, could have demolished it and let him fade away from the conscience of all sentient life on earth. Though that would have made sense to any other killer person, it would have tainted his process with unnecessary buffering. It served to have the body be found, as it could cast a warning to other specimens eager to get with you, advising them not to get close, and it would save you time worrying about the idiot he took his time to get rid of for you.
And he walked instead of teleporting that night, his anxiety flared up. Would you accept the truth? The reality that the one you said you loved is gone for good? If you pieced it all together, if your mind settled on him as the culprit, would you understand? Would your reasoning match his? Would you smile despite your grief?
Were you just as depraved as him?
You had to be. You were crafted specially for him, a dove waiting to be cradled by his hands, no matter how spoiled and rough they were. Even if his hold stained your pure white feathering.
Annoyed was an understatement when you cried for your murdered partner, your state of shock leaving your chest desperately heaving for a molecule of oxygen as you questioned the reality of the news given to you by his no-good parents. But alas, he forced waves of tenderness through his limbs as he stayed for you, to comfort you. You would understand someday. You would learn to forget him.
Your rehabilitation was slower than the timeframe Satoru anticipated. He could not fathom your sappy attitude towards it all. This was meant to be a gift, a liberation―and yet, your heart was taking it as a living nightmare. As the weeks stretched, his sneers grew bigger, and his scoffs louder. His impatience was never directed at you but rather at the memory of your dead boyfriend simply not fading quick enough.
Satoru's takeaway? He should have killed him sooner.
One could only imagine the state he was in as you told him about a new date you had planned with a nice man from the bakery down the street, wearing a smile on your pretty face that still wore the scars of your depression and exhaustion. Disbelief was one thing; another was pure rage, rage that you did not pick him once again.
But no matter, he understood what he had to do. If you could not get it through your beautiful little head that he was the primary constant in your life, he just had to go ahead and make sure to be the only remaining choice you had left. He needed you to realize the extent of the all-consuming adoration he reserved for you and only you.
Which is precisely why he stalked and killed your date as he commuted to his home, the man's oozing blood reflecting the yellow-toned light of the streetlamps, washed down by the rain into the sewers. Grinning, Satoru took in the disfigured head of the ugly bastard he had rid life from, brains and grey matter pouring out from where he hollowed out, right in the middle of the victim's face.
Except that this repeat offence did not help you see clearer whatsoever. You cried in the shower instead after getting the news, murmuring that perhaps you were simply cursed, one of those horrifying creatures Satoru spoke to you of.
Speak of the devil, he was quick to gather your form in his arms, quick to comfort, despite being the culprit of those atrocities that just seemed to follow you around. He cooed into your ear until you fell asleep, salty, tear-stained cheeks sticking to his cotton shirt. How could you not understand, after all of this, that this is perfectly where you were meant to be?
He made his presence more permanent as he unconventionally moved into your apartment with you by making your meals, taking care of your groceries, watering your plants, doing chores―all under the guise of being simply an overly concerned friend. You poor thing, all these tragedies must be getting to your head, hm? Why else would you see his eyes a bit crueller than before?
It was as if you had lost touch with the ground and the space all at once. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, nights. Weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds. You felt guilty for even breathing, empty for daring to experience a flicker of anything other than the deep pit those back-to-back losses left in the depths of your heart.
And then, there was Satoru, always at your beck and call, affectionate to no end, revered by patience itself. A saint.
The illusion finally started to end the night you brought back flowers from work. An array of gentians and African lilies peppered with baby's breath in various spaces. You made the mistake of, in an attempt of celebratory happiness, mentioning to Satoru that they were from a coworker, one you had known for quite a few years. A faded smile, a scowl he denied wearing, an accusation, and a few awkward words were enough to leave you both in silence, ruminating.
Satoru did the only thing he knew how to do by this point; he killed. And he killed. And he killed two more whilst he could. He remained kind to you, grateful that you still hadn't pieced that the common denominator was himself, the man who stayed alive through it all.
Explaining this all to your therapist made you feel insane, your own brain trying desperately to catch up with the constant whiplash the death and decay around you inflicted. The medication professionals prescribed was only enough to make the survivor's guilt quiet but not enough to get rid of the urges to end the cycle of massacre.
All the tears, the swirl in your brain of intrusive and impulsive thoughts putting you down, and the never-ending search for clarity led you to familiar vices. One or two nights of too much expensive wine you were gifted long ago, and you were pissed and emotional, letting all your guards down, making decisions you would have never believed yourself capable of making.
One of those decisions was kissing Satoru, tired eyes shut closed as you impulsively gave in to months of loneliness and trauma-bonding.
Reasonably, you panicked. You had now shown interest in a man―surely, in the morning, you'd peek your head from the hallway, look to your couch and see his blood staining the heavyweight cotton. You were a death sentence, after all, a walking grim reaper with too big of a heart and never enough time to say sorry, goodbye. Maybe you wouldn't get to say sorry to Satoru either, right?
And yet, he was content and smiling in the morning, alive and warm to the touch, palpable. For a moment, your heart started beating at a normal rate, as opposed to the uneven tambourine rhythm at which it had been beating before last night. You could touch him; he was there. You could hug him, wrap your arms around him, and he wouldn't vanish.
Satoru was over the moon that you had finally come to your senses. That you had chosen him after the senseless cruelty he had to abide by in order to make this shift happen. It had taken months of tireless efforts to get to his goal, but he had you within his grip.
It took months of reassurance that he was still alive―texts every five minutes, constant physical touch, staring at him and lying by him on the floor―for your anxieties to subside. The emptiness still remained an ache that Satoru himself had caused yet now tried to soothe. He worshipped the ground that you walked on and took care of your every need, and it felt too good to ever question.
His anger, his resentment for those pesky flies orbiting around you and trying to steal you away, finally subsided. He never quite got out of the habit of jumping to murder once an individual dared to show interest in you, but the reminder that you loved him now brought him back to earth. The comfort of knowing that would always be an option, though, was enough to hold him back. For now.
"Do you believe in soulmates?"
As your head whipped up from the wedding planner in your soft hands to look at Satoru, a piece of your hair fell over your face, his careful hand reaching to place it back behind your ear, a gentle grin painted on his face.
"What a question to ask after proposing," you chuckled, the corners of your lips curling up to match his expression. "I mean, a little. At least, after everything."
Your eyes gazed back at the images of flower arrangements. A particular one caught your eye; gentians, African lilies, and baby's breath. You checked the little tick box with the marker attached to the binder on the shiny laminated sheet.
"I guess that's fair."
Hell only stopped once you accepted him to be the one for you.
Soulmates, those words echoed as you pranced down the aisle, looking like heaven itself. Like the dove, Satoru always saw you as. As though he, a curse, a wicked being for utilizing his power for purely selfish gain and the expense of the one he claimed to love, was deserving of this moment.
And as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, hearing those words for the first time, hearing the answer to all of your turmoil, you smiled, worn out.
Relief, at last, to know the truth behind all of your heartache.
Prompt. Full-heartedly believe Choso is the goodest most pathetic boy for his partner ever. And not just when it comes to sex, just everything. He just loves you so much :( I can't prove it, but I can write about it. Smut included.
Choso, who just doesn't know what he would do if you weren't there. I mean, this boy gets lost so easily because of how much he wanders, he has to call you because he gets upset and has zero sense of direction.
"I don't know how to get home."
"Why did you leave?"
"I saw a kitty and I wanted to pet it."
Choso, who pouts, and he pouts a lot. He pouts when he doesn't understand something you're explaining, he pouts when he wants something, and he pouts when he doesn't get what he wants. Will act like you killed his whole family if you don't give him kisses right now.
Choso, who needs to be touching you at all times in some way, or he panics and thinks you don't love him anymore. The first time you gently push his hand away from your waist in public due to being overstimulated at the mall, he nearly has a breakdown going over every single thing he's said and done in the past week.
He told Yuji about it the next day, explaining that he will literally end his life if you leave him and telling him he had to help.
"Just make some sort of big gesture. You should be fine."
Choso decorated your bed with some flower petals the next day, found out he was allergic to pollen, and was sneezing throughout his apology. Apology you didn't know was for, but you forgave him regardless, nursing him back to health in your arms until he didn't have the sniffles from the pollen anymore.
Choso who was a virgin when you met him and remained one for a good part of your relationship, entirely confused when his dick would get hard when you held his hand? Love, why does it do that? It hurts. He couldn't look you in the eye for a bit after you had explained it, embarrassed and flustered.
Choso had to be shown everything bit by bit. He complained when you showed him porn because it's not you, so why would I watch it. Makes no sense.
Choso who, after that session, tried to masturbate, but it wasn't working. He was clumsy with his movements, too needy and eager, and didn't even know what he was supposed to be chasing. Until he thought about you smiling at a joke he made earlier, and before he knew it, he came all over your bedsheets.
Choso tried to hide what happened from you but couldn't lie when you asked why he was hauling your bedsheets into the washing machine on a weekday, meekly trying to put together the situation with words. After explaining, he asked if he needed to go see a doctor.
"That's normal, babe."
"Are you sure? Felt like I got possessed for a moment, maybe we have a ghost."
He couldn't understand why you laughed at that but was thankful for the reassurance that he wasn't dying.
Choso, who begged you to take his virginity a month later, whining about the wet dreams he had been having about you, confused about what it meant, but it had to mean something.
Choso spent an hour just feeling and looking at your body, unsure where to place his hands, where you liked being touched, where you didn't. He spent so much time asking questions, wanting to please and be good for you, that he only remembered how desperate he was when you finally took control, something blooming in his stomach as you gave him orders.
Choso, who discovered he cums fast and from almost nothing. He shuddered when you took his length in your hand, his back arching off the mattress as a soft whimper escaped his lips, shooting ropes of cum onto his stomach.
Choso, who discovered that going down on you was his favourite thing to do of all time. For a week straight, that's all he wanted to do; he wouldn't understand why you couldn't just stay under him all the time as he feasted. Has orgasms from it, too, completely untouched, just whining and moaning between your legs like a kicked puppy.
Choso, who pouts at you when you don't let him give you head.
Choso, who loves to be called a good boy, lives for it. In and out of the bedroom, it's like you saying "I love you" to him. Honestly has a bad day if you don't say it.
He is your good boy, and you will call him that.
Choso, who refuses to brat out because how can he be your good boy if he acts up. Days are filled with "yes ma'am," "no ma'am," and "right away." If anyone were to witness, they'd think you're running a tight ship military, but it's just your handsome man on his best behaviour as always.
Choso, who never argues. Not because of anything in particular; he's just not wired that way. He listens too well, is in tune with your emotions and his, and adapts fast. He just wants to make your life easier, and if you want the trash taken out at 8:31 instead of 8:30, then he'll be damned if he doesn't make that happen.
Choso, whose personal therapy is laying his head in your lap while you braid a strand or two. He loves the gentle tug on his scalp, loves your fingers in his hair, and loves to look up at you and see how focused you are.
Choso, who needs to feel helpful and wants you to depend on him the same way he depends on you, sometimes goes out of his way to make himself feel indispensable because he likes how it makes him feel. Once stole your schedule only to memorize it and recite it by heart when you mysteriously couldn't find it, the biggest smile on his face when you thanked him.
Choso, who could make out with you for hours on end just to feel your fingers playing with his baby hairs once. Nearly gets off on it.
Choso, who likes to shower with you only for the soap and shampoo part. He likes to be taken care of, your hands on his body as you lather him up properly, his eyes closed and his mind sleepy. Double points if you're taking a bath instead.
Choso, who lays in bed every night with you and tells you he loves you, why, for what traits, for what you give him and what you make of him.
Choso, who could write a whole essay about you, would never be done, could never run out of things to say.
Choso, who just loves you so much, needs you forever, no matter what.
Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Synopsis. Part 2 to "Personal" | Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, but use of "girl" about twice, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, fingering, creampie, sweet sex, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, still a little bit pathetic, still a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, drinking mentioned, no beta
Word Count. 6.1k
Parts. one | two
A/N. thank you so much for the love on part 1! sorry for taking so long with this one, i was a bit busy for the holidays. part 3 and final part hopefully coming soon in a theater near u
Seventeen times. And a half.
Since the tape came out on his page, Satoru Gojo had jerked off to it seventeen times. He only counts the half because he technically had finished that one time, but it was too humiliatingly early to even fully count.
It worried him at first. Sure, he was aware of his high sex drive, but never had a single video—a single person—managed to have him this worked up. He even had it downloaded to his phone, and downloading porn had never been a thing Satoru envisioned himself doing, ever, even if it was his own.
Every now and then, his mind would go blank and remind him of how you looked, how you sounded, how you smelled and how you felt. He remembered how you looked at each other, the burns your eyes had permanently left on his soul. He remembered making out with you on the studio bed after you had sucked on his fingers, a primal urge to taste you consistently and refusing to stop even to breathe. And he remembered your smile against his lips and how embarrassingly giddy it had him feeling.
Satoru hadn't turned the cameras off right away. He stayed with you in bed, and you didn't seem to mind, chatting it up rather normally while he laid on top of your body, heavy as a rock and as your fingers brushed through his hair. He had never spent over a minute with his co-stars after filming before. You were different. And he liked that you were different.
What he did not like was what came with you being different, the unknown.
Satoru was used to one-night stands, situations, and things that could have become something more but ended after one conversation about what he did for a living. Connections ending abruptly, accounts unfollowed, numbers deleted. It never shook him emotionally; he would be at most bummed out for the afternoon because, damn, she was hot or fuck, I liked her voice. Never anything serious.
And sure, whatever he had with you might have started as pure sexual attraction, but you weren't just a pretty face and a hot body.
He had explained it to Suguru as having a box full of your favourite chocolates and one flavour never tasted before. He liked all the other chocolates because they were his favourites, but once he tasted the unknown flavour, the other ones started to be dull to the senses―to which Suguru responded by calling him an idiot, of course.
It hadn't helped that you two started calling shortly after the video went live, your sweet voice and soft waves of laughter making his situation exponentially worse. Satoru put a lot of effort into being as casual and kind as he could be, careful not to scare you off and desperate to keep you around if only just milliseconds longer.
To your surprise, Satoru turned out to be a great listener—a little too great, at times, when you wondered if he was still listening after long monologues. He was attentive, remembered details you wouldn't even expect your closest friends to remember, which made your lips curl and your heart feel a little warm.
You had confessed on a particularly inebriated that you only got into the industry to pay off your education and some of your parents' debt and that it was supposed to be temporary. You explained that you were actually qualified for very high-profile jobs, but since you now had a "questionable internet history" that employers kept bringing up at interviews, you had given up on that, which took some coming to terms with on your part. And Satoru listened to that story, heart clenching when you thanked him for the opportunity he gave you to make a little bit more money this month.
Weird how you conveniently found a deposit in your bank account the next morning. He swore up and down he did not know the first thing about it, but even if it had come from him, he would not want you to take it as a gift of pity but rather a late bonus for your hard work. But it definitely wasn't him, sweet thing.
The gifts didn't stop after the money incident. Now that Satoru understood you better and that small gestures were the way to go rather than an exceedingly ridiculous amount of money to gift someone, he went with that. He ordered flowers to your home with no cards, trinkets and stickers he found at those seemingly breaking down records shops Suguru would drag him into.
Satoru never left any indication that it was his doing, and you had never brought it up to him. But he knew that you knew, and that was all he needed.
All your assistant ever heard these days was "Satoru this" and "Satoru that." Your constant gushing had made it abundantly clear that your relationship was a little bit more than professional and even transcended that of a friendship.
"Seems like you've really... taken a liking to that guy," she once said in the passenger seat of your car.
"I'm telling you, Sammy, he's nothing like he seems in his content. You'd like him," you had responded, pausing to contemplate your next words. "Plus, we're just, like, friends..."
"Friends who want to fuck each other bad, from what I heard."
"But friends nonetheless."
Silence fell at a red light, the hum of the tires rolling against the pavement dissipating.
"Plus, I don't think he's... he wouldn't go for me, is all I'm gonna say," you mumbled, fingers gripping the steering wheel.
Sammy scoffed, a tiny smirk at the corner of her lips.
"Yeah right."
For the most part, you were happy to have Satoru around, and he was happy to stay. But the satisfaction devolved into wanting, neither of you being brave enough to make the first move. Although Satoru was fine with even just having you in the picture, he wished he could film with you again, see you again. Touch you again.
And even if you both didn't truly know what you were, what you wanted from each other, it was peaceful to have another's presence the way you and Satoru did.
That lasted until about a month later when a studio approached Satoru, intending to remake the magic of your and him's video, with big money involved.
"You see, your uhm... tape, so to speak, I'm sure you're aware of the numbers it did," blabbed some man in a blue stained shirt and a moustache that didn't exactly connect.
"'Course," mumbled Satoru, slumped on an office chair, his eyes fixated on that moustache that barely qualified as one.
"Well, it seems that our female demographic these days is into that sort of played-up intimacy, you know. We're placing our big bets on your ability to do that."
This guy—Itsuki, as Satoru recalled—was a director for this falling pornography production studio. He knew what he was talking about for the most part, yet was still hiding the fact that this was a last-stretch attempt at keeping the business alive. "Big bets" was an understatement; nobody offered the amount of money they did if they weren't desperate.
God, he really, really hated studios.
"Played up?" Satoru questioned, shaking his head. "That wasn't played up I just..."
"Listen kid, you're the industry big shot," Itsuki grumbled.
"I am?"
Satoru's numbers had been high, but he had never considered himself to be anything other than just another attractive guy who happened to be good at sex as well. Calling him a "big shot" only cringed him out.
"Oh yeah, trust me, you're talked about a lot. It's a good thing. Ya got the X factor. You're versatile, people love you," the man continued, turning in his chair like a tall child, "And we just, uh... need a bit of your talent right now."
Satoru sighed, contemplating his options. On the one side, it was something he hated; being directed and ordered around like a show dog really was not his style, and he'd rather chew on a dirty tire than deal with that energy for even just one day.
But on the other hand, this would allow him to do something for you. Something he had been thinking about doing for a little while.
He really, really, really hated studios.
"Alright. I'll do it. Let me call my girl—" mumbled Satoru, reaching for his phone.
Itsuki raised his hand dismissively, earning a puzzled look from Satoru.
"Oh, sorry, you've misunderstood. We're gonna bring in one of our own actors for this job. Your girl, they're not exactly what we're, uh, looking for, if ya know what I mean," Itsuki chuckled, raising his pen to his lips, an amused look on his face.
"I don't know what you mean."
Satoru's tone had turned icy, blue eyes piercing through Itsuki's soul with disgust. Satoru had a pretty good idea of what he was arguing. His body tensed at the prospect.
"They're not exactly the, uh... body type we're lookin' for, y'know?"
"Yeah, no thanks, deal's off," Satoru groaned, rolling his eyes as he got up, already halfway across the room before Itsuki reserved the audacity to keep speaking.
"We'll throw in an extra few thousand."
Satoru found himself in a break room, reading the dumbest script of his whole career, with a girl with a stupid stage name and Itsuki. Any attempts made to change something in the script were quickly shut down by 'Honey Suckle,' the tall blonde clinging to his arm like he was her life force. He barely even glanced at her when she spoke; he didn't need to. Her voice was irritating enough.
He could not get his brain to shut off for even two seconds, thoughts racing. He kept forgetting the script, rolling his eyes at the dumb dialogue, and most importantly, for the first time in his entire life, he couldn't get it up for what seemed like an hour.
Until that is, he thought about you. The soft sound of your laughter, your eyes on him, your pussy sweet and tight around him, shit, that did the trick.
Honey didn't make the task an easy one. Satoru was lucky to be blessed with an adequate set of acting skills and a talent for pleasing women, this time for the sake of finishing this ordeal early and getting out of there with the money he was promised.
Just when he thought he was free, walking back to his makeshift dressing room—which had peeling paint that crumbled and left a white dust on his clothing and a cracked ceiling, adding to the desolate atmosphere of this sorry establishment—to get ready to leave, Honey ambushed him, demanding his number with an attitude that lacked class and bridged into spoiled brat territory.
Satoru was not surprised to learn that she was the one who orchestrated everything from the script to the over-the-top romantic set in the first place.
Reaching his front door after that day felt like reaching the gates of heaven. Satoru wasted no time hopping in the shower until his anxiety melted away and until he felt safe from the claws of that Honey girl, nearly scorching hot water cascading down from his head to his feet. A thick fog of condensation stuck to the glass and the mirror, shielding him from the emptiness of the room, perhaps.
With his leaned against the cold tiles, his hand reached out to grasp the soap bottle, and finally, a moment to himself, Satoru could not stop the reoccurring daydreams of you in this very place. Your thighs around his waist, your digits in his locks. Your bodies warm to the touch, skin sliding against skin. He could picture his hands on your chest, using the excuse of washing your body to touch, to feel. Taking you against the wall, the glass, leaving handprints that would linger for a few hours later.
And then, maybe, switch from the shower to the bathtub. Your body leaning on his chest, his lips against the nape of your neck, just gently holding you close. His fingers would prune up, and his head would rest on your shoulder, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. Maybe you would tell him it was dangerous to sleep in water, and he'd mumble something about not even being tired.
Despite the thought putting his mind at ease, he recognized the distant fear of vulnerability within himself. But it was dimming with every time he spoke to you; he was changing and seemingly adapting to the way you made him feel.
Satoru called you that same night, a little bit later than usual, unsure if you would even pick up when he glanced over at the clock on the wall, ticking amongst the silence. You answered, your usual quiet "hey" emerging from his phone's speaker, but it was... off to Satoru.
You sounded tired, distant even. He asked, pressed to understand if something was wrong, yet all he received in exchange were non-reassuring two-word sentences and mumbles of affirmations.
He didn't feel good about hanging up that night.
And he felt worse when he didn't hear from you in the next few days.
Satoru simply could not take the silence. It physically pained him to no end, like a sickness bubbling at the pit of his stomach. He was afraid that if he let it bubble enough, it would reach his throat to choke him out and make him perish.
When he wanted to treat you as a retired distraction, a mere phase of his life, the emotions came back to haunt him tenfold, the whiplash causing his usually already short temper to be microscopic.
He stalked your page almost every night, once finding a new upload of you taking it from the back, some random guy he had never heard of clumsily thrusting at an uneven pace. Satoru was almost certain you didn't even finish. Actually pathetic.
Before he knew it, Satoru was typing in the comment section, writing something along the lines of "He didn't even make you cum lol, you look bored as fuck, he's such a loser," before giving up on pressing the post button when he realized how unhinged he would come across.
Things were almost back to the way they were before he met you. And he absolutely hated it.
Satoru nearly punched Suguru when he had the gall to invite him to a wedding―a distant relative of the Geto family that Suguru insisted he had to attend the wedding of―because he thought it would be "good for him" and would "help him figure out what he wants."
Suguru may have had to drag Satoru to the event, but he did attend and stayed until after the ceremony, only for the drinks. And he drank, not until he was drunk, but enough to keep his emotions at bay for a little while.
Satoru walked outside the venue to get some air while Suguru talked to his second cousin. Standing in front of the busy street, Satoru took a deep breath and admired the lights of the cars passing by, street lights, windows and traffic signs, all coming together forming a multicoloured mosaic. The cool air hit his face and made him shiver, turning his head slightly to the left.
The street he was on happened to be the street you lived on. Satoru blinked once, twice; maybe he was imagining things. He knew your address by heart from ordering so much shit to your place, and he knew he wasn't blind either.
Sooner than he could even rationalize it, his feet were taking him down the street, looking closely at the numbers. He roughly estimated being about two blocks away from your apartment complex.
His mind started working overtime, giving him reasons to turn back, like, what if you had company over? What if there was another man there, in your bed, right now―and if anything, it only encouraged his body to move forward.
Satoru crossed the street, looking at the number at least six times before entering the entryway call box, his fingers hovering on the keypad, wondering if he should ring you or just a random person. A stranger would be 50/50 at this hour, but he was almost assured that if he picked you, his chances were near zero, given how you had ignored his calls in the past week.
He went with the stranger, dialling some random four digits and crossing his fingers. Hopefully, they wouldn't answer and ask questions―
"Hello? Is this Domino's?" a male voice, probably late 20's, answered after a few rings.
"Uhm... yeah?" Satoru squeaked. Whatever happens next will be the pizza delivery guy's problem.
The guy buzzed Satoru in without another question, leaving Satoru concerned about security in the establishment if it was this easy for him to get in.
6th floor, 683.
The anxiety started to set in only in the elevator on the way up. He hadn't planned this; in fact, he hadn't planned anything. He didn't even know what to say. He didn't even know why he was doing this. Why you, of all people. Why you, of all people, reserved the ability to reduce him to this, naked and vulnerable for you.
Or why he hoped, deep in his gut, that he could do the same to you.
Satoru almost wished that the walk from the elevator to your apartment was longer as he stood there. He nearly moved to look through the peephole, but nah, that'd be creepy.
He listened in instead from where he was standing, discerning from the silence that there was no one with you.
And so, he raised his fist.
And knocked.
You froze in your living room, whirling your head towards the doorway, cautious not to make a noise. You hadn't ordered anything, and a girl living by herself was probably better off not answering the door from an unknown visitor at 10 in the evening.
Satoru shut his eyes, cringing at himself in a moment of realization, though he did not leave. He leaned his forehead against your door, his palm over the frame above his head.
"You there?" he asked.
You knew that voice.
You moved quietly to stand in the doorway, careful to land your feet softly on the floor.
Satoru reopened his eyes and glanced down, seeing that the light was peeking through the bottom of the door and that a shadow was moving through.
"I know you're here, sweet thing," Satoru said, firm yet soft. "You can―" he sighed, "You can tell me to go away, and I will, but I just... I don't know what I'm here for, actually. Jus' wanna see you, is all."
His voice sounded like a whine, picking away at your resolve. He waited there for a minute in silence, giving you time to make your choice.
But he was silently begging you to choose him.
Satoru should have felt relieved when he heard your door lock and saw the handle turn, though it instead stuck his breath in his lungs.
It hadn't helped that he saw you standing in a pretty pastel nightgown, with a face devoid of makeup and mismatched socks. Such a beautiful, natural state that made his heart stop and his dick twitch with interest. He was trying not to let his eyes linger on your chest, your thighs, your everything that wasn't your face for too long.
What a sight for sore eyes.
That isn't to say Satoru was not a pretty view himself, his tie halfway undone around his neck, sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to right above his elbows, hair messy, eyes tired, and cheeks rosy―partly from the alcohol, partly from the cold, and partly because he felt like he had just been struck by a deity in the sky just looking at you―all while leaning on your doorframe and staring like he had been starved of something while away from you. Which he had, in his perspective.
"Y'don't answer your phone anymore, sweetheart?" asked Satoru rhetorically, words dripping in sarcasm.
"You show up to people's apartments uninvited now?" you retorted, employing the same tone.
"Would you cut the bullshit for a second? I'm being serious."
"Didn't sound like it."
Satoru was surprised to find you had bite, talking back to him with a little sass. He liked it. And maybe he'll fuck the attitude straight out of you later.
"That little radio silence thing you're on? Can't stand it," he went on, keeping the soft edge to his tone.
"I've been busy," you shrugged.
"Not too busy to get your back blown out by a guy who couldn't last two minutes."
"What, are you jealous?"
"Of what? His performance? Amongst the worst I've seen."
"That he got to blow my back out."
"Not jealous. Just pissed."
"Mh."
Satoru took a step closer, hand leaving the door frame to land on the wall above you as you crossed your arms, staring at the man towering over you with the same intensity he had in his blue eyes.
"Why are you ignoring me, love?" Satoru mumbled, letting insecurity and vulnerability peer through his voice.
"Because I don't know what you want. And I don't want to end up being just... another girl, y'know?" you admitted, dropping your gaze to his crinkled and half-open shirt.
Satoru's eyes softened, stepping too close to close the door behind him. You caught the scent of his cologne before he stepped back once more, and fuck, you needed him.
"There was this... other woman who posted on social media about how she was your girlfriend and all that," you went on, playing with your fingers as a distraction. "And then when I checked her out there was a video of you two in this whole like, romantic setting thing so... and like, I totally get it, I'm―I just didn't know what to do. Or what to think."
Oh, hell no.
"She's not my girlfriend," Satoru nearly interrupted. "I can swear that on my life, we just filmed together. I don't know why she's posting that, but I can promise you that I could barely even tolerate her. She's not the one I want."
That authoritative voice nearly made you forget the conversation you both were having.
"Matter of fact, I'm a bit offended that you'd think that we had any chemistry whatsoever; I had to work my ass off to even make that look even remotely believable," he scoffed, a grin returning to his lips.
Satoru was desperate to see that smile on your face again.
"Well, I didn't know what to think, I mean, she seemed like she could be your type," you replied sheepishly.
"If you think that's my type, sweetheart, I've still got lots to teach you," he purred, voice low.
Satoru reached his palm to your face, feeling the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips. He snaked his hold to the nape of your neck, pulling you forward towards him, his neck craned to meet your figure with his. His nose and lips brushed against yours teasingly, putting on a show.
"Come on, tell me to leave. Tell me I can't be yours."
Toying with a strand of your hair and looking through his long white lashes, he was unwilling to make the first move. Or rather, Satoru wanted you to tame the uncertainty bellowing from the pit of his stomach. Fearing rejection was unfamiliar to his heart, but knowing it to be a testament to your importance mellowed the burn.
"Tell me that I can't have you."
Satoru was only merely surprised by your arms wrapping around his neck to bring his lips to yours, adapting quick and shutting his eyelids, languid movements of your tongue against his, sobering him up completely to get him drunk on a different type of substance.
His hand left the wall to come softly grip your thigh, moving to its underside to encourage you to jump.
"But what if I'm―" your voice came out breathless.
"Don't offend me right now, sweet thing."
You jumped, trusting him to catch you―and he did, without so much as a grunt, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, supporting you with his forearms under your thighs.
"See? No need to doubt me," Satoru mumbled against your lips.
The kiss was slow yet messy, sloppily reverberating passion and a twinge of desperation. Within a break for oxygen―which he could have gone without if up to him―Satoru asked for the directions to your bedroom, kicking his shoes off somewhere between the entryway and the hallway.
Satoru was thrilled to see the room he had seen on Facetime with you a few times; it was perfectly tailored and personal to you. It was one thing to see, but it was another to be in your space with you.
He set you down on your bed carefully, keeping your legs to the sides of his waist as he crawled above you.
"You're just too good, y'know that? Fuck, you made it so hard to focus," said Satoru, admiring the sight before him.
"I wasn't even there."
"You were everywhere. Couldn't... couldn't think straight... couldn't stop..."
His voice trailed off as his eyes dropped lower to your hips, your thighs. Satoru traced an imaginary line on the inner side of them, agonizingly slow, your nightgown pooling and lifting at his wrist. He ran his finger on a small patch of your underwear where your arousal had soaked through the fabric, a stupid smirk on his face.
"Can I keep these after?"
He chuckled softly when you rolled your eyes and turned your head to the side, flustered. How cute.
Satoru began to take your panties off, shifting on top of you to make the task possible, bunching up the fabric in his hands and shoving them in his pocket with a wink.
He dipped two of his fingers between your slit, avoiding your clit on purpose, smiling down at you when you frowned at him.
"What? Tell me what you want. Big girl words, come on."
No script, no pre-determined routes, just genuineness.
"Just touch me, Satoru..." you mumbled, unsure.
"Where?"
Oh my god, this asshole.
You gasped as his fingers ghosted over your clit, begging him to touch there.
"Right here?" Satoru questioned, fake innocence etched onto his face as he stroked the sensitive nub slowly.
"Mhm," you sighed out.
The pace he had set was too slow, but he was aware of that. He did not want to make you cum, at least not right then, he simply wanted to drive you insane, give you a taste of your own medicine―so to speak.
Satoru replaced his fingers with his thumb, digits reaching over to your entrance, circling the opening.
"You have no fucking clue, do you? How mad you can turn a man. How long I would wait, what I would give up just to be yours. You don't even realize―"
He pushed his fingers in with one deep thrust, letting you whine and mewl at him before resuming his sentence, moving his index and middle in and out of you.
"You don't even realize how unhinged you make me―fuck, look at that, already soaking my hand, shiiit, and you're so tight..."
Satoru's eyelids were half closed, focused on the soft squelches of your pussy and the sight of it, ignoring his erection begging to be released from those tight black pants.
"And then you go out and fuck some guy who can't even make you cum? Who doesn't even take his fucking time to learn your body to fucking treat you like the deity you are. Now that's bullshit, and you know it, sweetheart. I know you're smart."
He sped up the pace, hitting your spot with deliberate and merciless movements, high on your moans and the way your back arched for him, mind stuck on his objective.
"Should've called me, I would've eaten that pussy for hours, would've done it for free. For less than free. Fuck, would've paid you for it."
Satoru's incessant speaking drove you up the wall, your fingers tightly gripping the sheets, his motions precisely designed to satisfy you but never quite send you over the edge.
"Satoru," you panted, sweat beading on your body.
"Yes?"
"Want more... please..."
"Anything you want, pretty."
He timed the thrusts of his fingers with the circling of your clit, increasing the pace while keeping a delicacy to his endeavours, capturing your lips in a small, shallow kiss before leaning his forehead on yours.
Right when Satoru felt your thighs start to tense at his sides, your breath quicken on his face, your walls fluttering, and the urgency in your voice, he...
Stopped.
Pulled his fingers out and licked them right in front of you, making sure your eyes were on him.
"I was so close―this is the second time you've done this," you whined, eyes closing as you felt the pure need coursing through your veins like a spreading disease.
"First time doesn't count; it was on camera," Satoru shrugged. "Come on, don't make that face. Besides, I'm punishing myself too. Watching you cum is the hottest thing ever."
With a groan, you pushed Satoru to his back and lifted yourself onto him in one move.
Satoru didn't know if he was in love before, but this certainly did it.
"My, my, woman. Didn't know you had that in you."
Even under you, the man had to stay smug, an arrogant smile on display just for you. You pouted and started undoing the buttons of his shirt without a word, which he did not move to fight, simply observing your meticulous work with his forearms under his head.
"Just like that, use me, sweetheart; you deserve it."
You couldn't ignore how Satoru's voice made your core drip, the stain of slick you had inadvertently left on the lower part of his dress shirt, or the comment he made about never washing that shirt again.
"You're nasty."
"You love it."
When you reached his pants, having shimmied further to gain access to it, you hesitated.
"Don't tell me you're shy now," Satoru taunted.
"You can't―you can't blame me. I haven't had sex for real in a while," you retorted, a small smile forming on your lips, catching his gaze.
"It felt pretty real last time."
There was a certain sincerity in his voice, contrastingly different from just a moment ago, vulnerable. You could see it in his eyes, the way in which they conveyed everything he had ever felt, giving and sharing strands of thought and emotion.
"That was different," you mused, moving to take his pants off.
Satoru lifted his hips to help you, silent as for your words. He did not want to push and ruin this by digging, searching to understand every inch of your soul, of your experience with him. Although it was tempting.
He moved to sit up against your headboard, biceps flexing. He took his boxers off, cock standing tall and proud, achingly hard. Satoru took your forearm in his hand to pull you closer until you were straddling him, his length slipping between your slit.
"Use me," repeated Satoru, murmuring. "I'm all yours. Take what you want."
He moved his hand to your face, thumb sliding over your cheekbone. Satoru gazed up at you with a glint of devotion in those deep blue eyes, devoid of any uncertainty or hesitation, pretty white brows furrowed lightly with gut-wrenching warmth. Fondness was too shallow of a word to describe it. A little pathetic was surface level.
A second hand left your forearm to rest on your hip, imprinted nicely on your flesh. Satoru helped you lift yourself to sit back down on his cock, drinking your little mewls and gasps, groaning when he was fully seethed in your tight heat, as if it were his home.
"Mph, fuck, the wait was so worth it," he exhaled, both of his palms migrating to your waist. "Want some help, beautiful?"
You nodded yes, busy with the feeling of the wind being knocked out of your lungs. Satoru smiled and helped you lift yourself, length dragging out of your sopping cunt, to help you back down. He moaned shakily as you set a slower pace than what he was used to, losing himself in the feeling of your cunt around him.
"Y'know I... I watched our v-video so many fucking times. Started to―fuck, so fucking tight around me..."
"Started t-to what?" you whimpered, letting your head drop to his shoulder, panting quietly against his skin.
"Started to feel guilty f-for doing it, fuckin' jerking off to you... after you'd just told me some fuckin' innocent shit about your day or something... Oh my god... missed this, s'much."
Satoru moved one of his hands to lift your head off his shoulder, holding your face to force eye contact. His lips were parted, shameless with the endless grunts and groans of satisfaction your body forced out of him. He just about lost it when he felt your pretty hands on his chest, desperate for something to touch, to grab.
"Angle your hips that way, sweetheart," Satoru murmured, hand at your side moving you.
His thick tip hit your spot with a particularly harsh bounce, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. Your thighs twitched around him, and your eyes rolled back as he whined at the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against his, the wet noise of his cock dripping and enveloping with your essence.
"I think I'm gonna cum," you breathed out.
"I know, I know pretty... I can tell by the way you squeeze around me, shitttt..."
Satoru felt like the world around him was spinning, listening to your voice, your pretty face, your body. The way your hands tightened around his pec inadvertently, the subtle sheen of sweat on your skin, your concentrated expression, so fucking adorable.
He pulled you in to connect your lips, trapping you in a searing, sincere kiss, swallowing your breaths, taking from your air. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping tight but not enough to hurt. His nose brushed against yours as he turned his head for better access, pressing his face against yours as if he were scared you would evaporate beneath his fingers.
Satoru bit your lower lip and lightly dragged it away with his front teeth when he felt he was finally satisfied, although he had to force every muscle in his body to just let you breathe.
"'M gonna take care of ya... gonna fuckin'―fuck―gonna give you everything, promise... I swear, e-everyday I'll prove I'm good e-enough for you, every fuckin' day 'til I die, holy fuck."
Until my body gives out to the stars.
Your thighs started to give out, the strain making your movements less fluid and more scattered. Satoru started to meet you halfway with a thrust of his hips, sliding a hand down to toy with your clit, just like he'd seen you do before.
"Satoru," you breathed, tone wanton and desperate.
"Fuck, d-don't say my name l-like that unless you wanna make me―"
Satoru's ears started to ring, and his vision went blurry as he spilled himself deep inside your willing cunt, little whimpers contrasting the deep groans from earlier. His head fell back on your headboard, Adam's apple bobbing while his eyes got teary.
"S-So good, so pretty f'me, fuck..." Satoru squeaked out.
He continued his finger's assault on your cunt, flicking and rubbing at a faster pace. He just needed to see you cum. Needed to see you cream on his cock, just like you deserved.
Satoru looked at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky, watching you convulse, pant, do anything to brace yourself with this impending orgasm, finally sending over the edge with a sharp pinch of your clit.
And he didn't just stop at that; when he had regained his ability to speak, he offered to clean you up, take you to the bathroom, run you a bath, dumb shit that he thought you'd appreciate that he wanted to do for you. Didn't even recognize himself anymore.
You accepted the first two offers but not the last, seeing as it was late and you were tired, not only from the day but riding his dick, losing yourself in his arms.
Satoru found a cloth in your bathroom and warmed it up with tap water. He made sure it wasn't too hot to the touch before he climbed back in bed, gently cleaning your thighs, your mound, anywhere he thought leaving dirty would be uncomfortable.
Although seeing your hole nicely filled with his seed almost made him ask for a second round.
"I do care about you. Wanna do right by you, if you're okay with that," Satoru murmured.
Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta
Word Count. 3.9k
A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!
Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.
The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.
While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.
Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.
And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.
The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...
He shelved that idea for later.
Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.
Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.
The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.
His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.
Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.
Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.
Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.
His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.
And oh, he was gone again.
Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.
The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.
Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.
Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.
From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.
He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.
On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.
He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.
And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.
Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.
You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.
Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.
And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.
After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.
"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.
In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.
The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.
You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.
It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.
You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.
Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.
As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.
"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.
"Yeah?" you murmured.
"Yeah."
The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."
The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.
Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.
'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.
Oh.
He watched.'
Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.
Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.
"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.
Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—
It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.
Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.
"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.
"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.
Satoru's brain short-circuited.
Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.
He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.
Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.
"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.
Had he just stuttered?
He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.
"God, she wants me so bad."
Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.
"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.
"N-No, not really," you sighed.
"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."
He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.
And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.
You had been faking your moans?
He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.
"Wha-, who―"
"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.
He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.
When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.
Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.
"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."
He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.
A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.
Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.
For you.
And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.
"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."
He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.
"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.
"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."
It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.
What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.
Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.
"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.
He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.
"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."
"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.
"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.
"Why not? I want it."
If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.
Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.
"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.
He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.
Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.
More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.
Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.
"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."
"H-Huh―?"
"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."
Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.
"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"
You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.
"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"
He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.
The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.
Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.
"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.
His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.
"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."
"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.
"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."
Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.
"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"
His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.
Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.
"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.
He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.
He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.
Almost, almost done with part 2! Should come out tomorrow. Thank you for all the love on this <3 Part 2 will be longer; trust that I will deliver quality content. You get smut for the new year yippee :3
Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta
Word Count. 3.9k
A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!
Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.
The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.
While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.
Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.
And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.
The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...
He shelved that idea for later.
Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.
Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.
The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.
His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.
Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.
Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.
Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.
His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.
And oh, he was gone again.
Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.
The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.
Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.
Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.
From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.
He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.
On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.
He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.
And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.
Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.
You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.
Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.
And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.
After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.
"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.
In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.
The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.
You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.
It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.
You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.
Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.
As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.
"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.
"Yeah?" you murmured.
"Yeah."
The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."
The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.
Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.
'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.
Oh.
He watched.'
Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.
Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.
"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.
Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—
It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.
Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.
"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.
"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.
Satoru's brain short-circuited.
Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.
He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.
Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.
"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.
Had he just stuttered?
He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.
"God, she wants me so bad."
Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.
"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.
"N-No, not really," you sighed.
"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."
He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.
And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.
You had been faking your moans?
He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.
"Wha-, who―"
"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.
He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.
When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.
Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.
"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."
He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.
A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.
Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.
For you.
And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.
"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."
He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.
"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.
"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."
It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.
What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.
Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.
"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.
He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.
"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."
"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.
"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.
"Why not? I want it."
If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.
Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.
"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.
He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.
Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.
More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.
Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.
"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."
"H-Huh―?"
"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."
Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.
"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"
You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.
"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"
He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.
The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.
Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.
"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.
His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.
"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."
"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.
"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."
Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.
"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"
His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.
Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.
"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.
He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.
He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.
Almost, almost done with part 2! Should come out tomorrow. Thank you for all the love on this <3 Part 2 will be longer; trust that I will deliver quality content. You get smut for the new year yippee :3
Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta
Word Count. 3.9k
A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!
Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.
The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.
While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.
Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.
And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.
The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...
He shelved that idea for later.
Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.
Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.
The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.
His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.
Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.
Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.
Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.
His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.
And oh, he was gone again.
Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.
The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.
Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.
Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.
From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.
He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.
On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.
He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.
And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.
Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.
You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.
Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.
And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.
After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.
"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.
In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.
The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.
You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.
It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.
You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.
Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.
As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.
"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.
"Yeah?" you murmured.
"Yeah."
The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."
The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.
Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.
'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.
Oh.
He watched.'
Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.
Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.
"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.
Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—
It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.
Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.
"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.
"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.
Satoru's brain short-circuited.
Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.
He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.
Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.
"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.
Had he just stuttered?
He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.
"God, she wants me so bad."
Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.
"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.
"N-No, not really," you sighed.
"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."
He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.
And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.
You had been faking your moans?
He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.
"Wha-, who―"
"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.
He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.
When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.
Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.
"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."
He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.
A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.
Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.
For you.
And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.
"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."
He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.
"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.
"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."
It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.
What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.
Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.
"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.
He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.
"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."
"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.
"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.
"Why not? I want it."
If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.
Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.
"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.
He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.
Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.
More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.
Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.
"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."
"H-Huh―?"
"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."
Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.
"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"
You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.
"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"
He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.
The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.
Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.
"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.
His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.
"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."
"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.
"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."
Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.
"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"
His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.
Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.
"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.
He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.
He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.
Synopsis. Pornstar!Satoru is used to fucking for money's sake. It's something he does often and something he does really fucking well. When he is requested to guest you, however, it shocks everyone to see an immediate energy shift.
Pairing. Satoru Gojo x fem!reader
Content. MDNI, fem! pornstar! reader, chubby! reader implied, gender neutral pronouns used for reader, no use of "y/n", smut, p in v, cunnilingus, slight choking, some semblance of onlyfans, pussydrunk! gojo, gojo is left handed canon, a little bit pathetic, and a little nasty, probable breaches of work boundaries, no beta
Word Count. 3.9k
Parts. one | two
A/N. baby's first jjk fic, be gentle </3 please give me feedback and lmk if i forgot some tags :3 reposts encouraged!
Rain dribbled and splattered on the window, the tiny water beads reflecting and refracting the dim light from Satoru's phone. He sat upright on his bed, muscular back against the headboard, upper arms aching from his last session two days prior. He had reluctantly agreed to participate in a "professional"―which, to Satoru, was just a word for more work, smaller pay―shoot with some girl he could barely remember the name of.
The result? The director had barked at him to put himself in impossible positions for the camera's sake, which left his limbs sore and not in a good way. Satoru forced the scene to end, left with his money and a vow to himself to never ever work for studios again. He hated being told what to do, especially from guys who don't actually have what it takes.
While painkillers and a nice massage from the spa below his apartment complex did not eradicate the pain, it did make it much more tolerable.
Satoru's thumb swiped across the screen, scrolling through comments from his latest post, a message to his subscribers asking for content ideas. Sure, he did not like being told what to do, but being kindly suggested by his fans to fulfill their desires was different. In the end, he was still in control.
And it probably won't land him in a pharmacy either.
The request that Satoru found came up the most was for him to do ASMR; some fans wanted to hear those pretty praises, those filthy words he gives to his co-stars, spoken to them instead. Although the idea was alluring, Satoru would rather be on camera than behind a fancy microphone in a recording booth—primarily because he was too proud to opt out of showing his god-crafted body (that cocky bastard). But then again, he could find a way to do both...
He shelved that idea for later.
Other requests were suggestions of people to shoot with. Some popular names came up, women and men he had already filmed with and didn't find too interesting. He could fake it, of course; he was an actor, it was half of his job―but he would be unsatisfied with the end result.
Satoru was about to quit reading requests, bored and uninspired until his cerulean eyes stuck themselves to a particular comment. The space between his eyebrows creased as his eyebrows furrowed. It was a subscriber recommending another star, explaining how they weren't very well known, but they believed them and Satoru would make a great pair.
The wording was not what caught his attention, he had gotten plenty of requests with the same exact sentence before. No, it was the name, your page's name―which, to Satoru, felt familiar yet distant. He hadn't shot with you before, no, that wasn't it. Yet he was certain he knew you, knew of you at least.
His thumb reached for the search bar to type in your alias, his eyelids flickering when his gaze fell on your profile, your soft face on display. Satoru felt his length chub up in his boxers, soft lips parting to accommodate for a sudden need of oxygen.
Just as his subscriber said, you were less popular than him, with less than half the number of subscribers he had and an inarguably cheaper paywall in front of your content. Memories of happily searching for his new credit card numbers to pay for your videos came back rushing to him, memories only a few months old.
Satoru recalled seeing a preview and being immediately smitten by your pretty figure, your plush thighs and your tummy, that tiny thrill in your eyes. Fuck, how he had spent half of his revenue giving you tips on an anonymous account―just to obtain a personalized picture of just those pretty thighs, fisting his aching cock to that image for days.
Just looking at that profile again, oh my god.
His eyes laid on the subscription button. He did not even bother getting on an alt account this time to press it, watching the confirmation request pop up on his screen to gather his fingerprint in order to complete the purchase. When the paywall finally went away, Satoru let out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding, his hand travelling to his boxers, palming himself through his briefs as he scrolled.
And oh, he was gone again.
Satoru had never sent a message to his agent that frantically in his life, asking her―no, begging her to contact you to secure a shoot with you. Asked her to do whatever she could to get you in the studio.
The next few days went by without a reply from your part, and Satoru was going mad. He could not remember being this nervous for anyone, this needy. In between sessions of overthinking (maybe he should have asked you himself or maybe offered something more), he found himself replaying videos of yours he had already seen, notably the ones with other men. He knew them by heart.
Those guys didn't seem to appreciate you nearly as much as you needed, as much as you deserved. It pissed him off beyond what he thought was possible, yet made him so hard; He knew he could fuck you so much better than those amateurs you were with, pleasure you in ways they wouldn't even dare.
Unbeknownst to Satoru, you were just intimidated by his offer. Too much money from too big of a creator and an offer that seemed too good to be real to not hold a catch, which is why you did not answer right away, anxiously weighing the implications. It wasn't until he, in a moment of pure desperation and haze, shot you a private message confirming the offer that you replied, shyly agreeing.
From then on, Satoru could barely contain himself, daydreaming about everything he could do to you with his left hand eagerly moving up and down his cock, breathy exhales escaping his mouth and shaky fists gripping his bedsheets. Too often, he found himself checking the calendar on his phone, awaiting the shoot date, disappointed every time that it was still the 15th instead of the long-awaited 21st. Satoru Gojo did not exactly believe himself to be a patient man.
He sent you little messages throughout the week with ideas and reassuring messages. He wanted to know everything about you, your likes and dislikes, what you thought of him, how your body worked, and how he could get you to whine and moan for him.
On the day of the shoot, Satoru was almost unrecognizable to others involved―his agent and the friends he'd stopped to visit on his way to his studio. The man people had described as cocky, overly confident, and self-absorbed was reduced to a nervous, lost-in-thought mess. All because of you, the pretty little thing he would get to have his hands on later that evening.
He'd showered three times, spent too long in his room figuring out what clothes to wear, as if that would matter, and freaked out over his hair. His hair.
And when you finally arrived at the studio with your assistant, he nearly forgot how to breathe. That, or he was purposely holding back for fear of scaring you off, this cute little thing before him. You introduced yourself, pretty eyes gazing up at him, taking a second to admire each and every one of his features. As soon as he saw your smile, here in person, he told himself he could die happy.
Well, he could die happy after having a taste of you.
You were shy while introducing yourself to him. The interaction could easily have been misread as awkwardness, and that was what Satoru would have gone with, too, if he didn't know any better (if he didn't think so highly of himself). Your softer voice, your pretty eyes, god, those eyes. He could tell you might've had a tiny crush on him as well, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make his head reel.
Your assistant all but confirmed it when you excused yourself to the restroom, admitting that you hadn't stopped gushing about this opportunity since you got it.
And when you got back, he had the most annoying smirk and glint in his eyes, looking down at you.
After discussing what he wanted for the scene, making sure you were comfortable and willing to participate―a gentleman, truly, asked you so many times that you started chuckling your answers―he had his agent and your assistant leave the studio after you agreed to dismiss them. He did not mind an audience, but he wanted this to be personal.
"I film all my own shit anyways," he hummed, hopping behind the camera to adjust the angle.
In the film room of the studio was a bedroom set with a queen-sized bed with navy sheets and a wooden frame. A sliding-door closet with mirrors stood tall on the left side, and a bedside table on the right.
The scene you and Satoru agreed upon was vanilla, but he was pleased with the gist of it. Any way he could have you is a way he'd be pleased with, however. It didn't really matter how for the time being.
You sat in the middle of the bed, your back against the cold headboard and palms against the soft sheets, gazing at Satoru as he grumbled at the camera, shifting through the studio to find a new battery with his lips pursed in a pout. It amused you, seeing a different side of him.
It was only three minutes later that he climbed onto the bed, knees against the mattress as he moved towards you, those blue eyes staring at your frame through those pale lashes. He moved to straddle you, his back straight, his body looming over yours.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," mumbled Satoru, his hand firmly landing on the headboard to support himself, making a louder sound than he intended. "You tell me if I'm too much for you, alright, pretty?" he followed in a softer tone.
You nodded, the pad of your index landing on his shoulder and travelling down his torso, trailing close to the sweatpants he wore. Satoru reached his own unoccupied palm to your face, his fingers hooking themselves at the nape of your neck to pull you towards him. His nose brushed against yours before capturing your lips with his.
Satoru had never felt drunk on a kiss until you entered his studio.
As if a switch flipped in his head, he kept you closer to him, desperate and unwilling to pull away from your lips. He breathed shakily, his minty breath fanning over your mouth.
"Oh, you're good at this," he laughed, an arrogant laugh that made your pussy ache.
"Yeah?" you murmured.
"Yeah."
The hand on your cheek moved to your throat, squeezing at the sides―not enough to hurt, just to make oxygen sparse in your system. "I'll make you feel good, sweetheart, hm? I'll do better than those fucking losers on your page."
The sweetest words said oh so cruelly.
Although it was increasingly hard for you to think, you were able to click the pieces together pretty quick, your eyes widening and your pupils dilating.
'Fourth wall break wasn't part of the plan.
Oh.
He watched.'
Satoru's gaze had changed. Deep, yet precise in conveying the exact energy desired. A short, almost inaudible gasp escaped your lips, and fuck, he fed on that, on your reactions to him, no matter how small or insignificant. It mattered to him.
Warm fingers slipped under your the black camisole hugging your body before you could even notice his hand had left your throat, caressing your skin until he his the jackpot, massaging the same breasts he had spent hours looking at only within the past week.
"Oh-ho— nothing, no bra for me?" Satoru chuckled. He captured your nipple between his index and his thumb, rolling and pinching at it until it pebbled, drawing out a whimper from your lungs.
Satoru was fascinated by what he had under his hand, taking a too-curious approach to exploring, as if he had never seen or felt another body before this point in his life. He took his time to gently remove the fabric off of your body, imagining all the ways he could bind and explore it, worship it, cum all over those pretty tits—
It wasn't until he felt your soft hands trying to discard his shirt that he snapped out of his haze, realizing he was fucking up the pacing.
Satoru latched his mouth to one of your breasts, biting and sucking gingerly while he focused on getting you out of those tight leggings you wore just for him, that truly left nothing to the imagination. He frantically worked to get those white laced panties out of the way with a tad more force than he should have, causing a tear to rip into the fabric.
"Satoru—" you gasped, only halfway acting.
"I'll get you another pair," he groaned against your chest, licking over one of the bite marks he had left before unlatching to look down.
Satoru's brain short-circuited.
Sure, he's seen your body time and time over, but that had only ever been through the careful separation of a screen, a paywall. It was different to have access to it, to be able to touch and feel.
He thanked his earlier self for asking if he could eat you out, for now, getting to have your supple thighs around his face and neck. Fuck, he could really die happy now.
Satoru caught sight of your dripping cunt, juices dripping and latching onto your skin. He felt hungry for what seemed to be the first time in his life, moving down your body to kiss right over your mound, your scent filling his senses.
"Oh, s-shit, look at that," said Satoru.
Had he just stuttered?
He nudged his nose in between your folds, brushing against your clit with a swiftness that made your figure jolt. He chuckled, moving his arms to trap your hips and pin them to the mattress, muscles flexing under his skin to intimidate.
"God, she wants me so bad."
Satoru languidly licked up and down your slit, careful to miss your sensitive bud in the meanest way. He whimpered at the taste of you on his tongue, sweet in a natural way, catching both you and himself off guard. If his face wasn't buried in your cunt, you could have seen the faint blush creep to the surface of his cheeks.
"You ever had someone do this, sweet'art?" he mumbled against your heat, lips finally latching on to your clit.
"N-No, not really," you sighed.
"Mh," Satoru hummed disapprovingly, toying with the bundle of nerves between his teeth, one of his arms sneaking away from your hips. He teased his ring finger at your entrance. "You're, fuck- fuck― you're so― taste so good..."
He pushed his finger past the ring of muscle until he was knuckles deep, groaning before he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking in small intervals as he pumped in and out of your velvety walls. Satoru whined when your hand flew to his hair.
And when you moaned for him, he was a goner. He noticed the usually loud and audibly altered sounds had turned saccharine and almost timid.
You had been faking your moans?
He snickered at his realization, breaching through the noise of your moans and the quiet slurps. "I think she loves me," said Satoru in between breaths.
"Wha-, who―"
"Wasn't talking to you, love." Satoru's words drastically contrasted with his soft tone.
He punctuated his sentence by curling his digits to find and abuse that spongey spot, earning a string of nonsense words and whines from you, only encouraging his endeavour. The soft squelch of your pussy around his fingers and his mouth was enough to drive him to buck his hips toward the mattress.
When Satoru felt your soft thighs tighten around his head, he forced himself to pull away, grunting as you desperately moved to grip your fingers in his hair, trying to keep him there. If he hadn't had such strong convictions, he might have stayed down there for the rest of his life, dying happy with his face buried in your pretty cunt.
Satoru straightened his form, his fingers pulling out to find your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. You protested, whining pathetically.
"I know, I know, sweet girl, I'm sorry. Wanna... wanna have you cum on my cock. Can y'do that love? Want you all over me.."
He was mumbling, staring into your eyes with his pupils blown wide. The blue of his irises was overtaken by those black orbs, capturing you in his sight. His chin was wet and dripping, and his lips were slightly swollen.
A gorgeous mess for you to gaze upon.
Satoru's eyes dropped down to the sweatpants he threw on earlier (and called Suguru about just to make sure it looked "casual but not fuckboy"―Suguru called him a dumbass and hung up), carefully bunching up the fabric as well as his boxers before pushing down. Hissing as his length perked up, angry and weeping pre, he breathed a little heavier than before, his shoulders rising and falling. Satoru hadn't felt this worked up in months, maybe years, all from this.
For you.
And you would not be lying saying that had to be the prettiest dick you'd ever seen.
"Shit― look at that, hah," Satoru softly chuckled. "Lift your legs up f'me, pretty, come on.."
He grinned down at you as he helped you push your knees up to your limit, delicately placing your ankles on his shoulders and leaning his torso forward. Satoru placed one of his palms behind your cranium, a small yet protective measure.
"This okay?" asked Satoru, nudging his tip against your folds, collecting your slick to drench his cock, gliding over your clit.
"Y-Yeah, this is fine..."
It was rare for you to be nervous, given that you were used to having sex, filming it, and posting it for hundreds to see. Intercourse was not something you had any insecurities about. Usually.
What caught you off guard was the look in Satoru's eyes, the way he carried himself with a gentleness foreign to anything you've seen from him.
Satoru leaned down to press kisses against your jawline, open-mouthed and delicate, exhaling as he guided his length past your entrance, satisfied at the small gasp he heard from your lips.
"Oh my god, it's even fucking better than I imagined," said Satoru, his voice strained.
He could feel the stretch, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, still so tight and fuck―the tiny high-pitched, almost inaudible whimpers that escaped your throat.
"Don't know if I'll be able to pull out, sweet girl, hah―shit―she's sucking me in, look."
"Then don't," you mumbled, turning your head to meet his lips.
"You can't say shit like that," Satoru scoffed.
"Why not? I want it."
If you were simply pretending for the camera, that was some damn good acting. Good enough to turn Satoru into putty in your hold, to shut his brain off and make him act on instinct alone, script be damned.
Satoru pushed in until his pelvis hit your flesh, his hold on you faltering in strength momentarily, a helpless expression on his face. He listened to your quiet whines, his free hand returning to your clit in hopes of easing the strain.
"Just fuckin' perfect, holy fuuuck―" he strained out.
He withdrew his fingers from your clit to taste you once more, addicted. He drew his hips back slowly, just enough to leave about an inch inside, before thrusting back in at a slightly faster pace, setting a rather slow, intimate rhythm for you to follow.
Satoru watched as your breath picked up, how the slow rock of his hips made your eyes unfocus, and your mouth hang open. He watched as your forehead started to sweat, how your hair moved along his movements.
More importantly, Satoru listened. He heard those moans, shakier and uncalculated. He knew he wasn't crazy earlier when he had the reflection that you had been faking them.
Actually pathetic, those "men" you had been with.
"You're so pretty, y'know that?" Satoru mumbled, out of his mind. Like he was a schoolboy talking to his second-period crush. "So pretty... s'not fair..."
"H-Huh―?"
"S'not fair how it's gonna be―mh, shit―over, how s'gonna be over."
Satoru angled his hips differently, aiming for that spongey spot he had found earlier. That said, he would have had to be able to think straight to get it on the first try; which he could not, not when he was buried deep inside your cunt.
"W-What―aah, fuck, Satoru~"
You couldn't recall any shoots you had done―or any sex you had had at all, actually―that felt as good as Satoru.
"Right there, right? S'that i-it?"
He drove his movements faster, his pelvis hitting the back of your thighs and your ass with a louder SMACK! than it did previously, his breaths becoming further shallow and desperate. His skin grew increasingly damp as his efforts increased, and what were previously grunts turned to shameless moans, whines and whimpers, wanton and needy.
The man was losing his mind, so unlike anything you had seen from him.
Satoru's thrusts soon became erratic and uncoordinated, his face buried in your neck, drinking all of the sounds you were making like he was getting drunk on them.
"Can't... won't last l-long, okay? M'sorry I can't..." Satoru wailed.
His hand found your breast, flicking at your nipple in hopes of making you cum faster, needing to feel you. You were teetering on the edge, and he could feel it, feel how your pussy drew him in.
"Y'know you've been― y'been teasing me for two fuckin' weeks―aah... shitshitshit, so so g-good―two weeks." He paused to groan, pinching your flesh between his index and thumb to elicit a reaction from you. "Can't get enough of you, you're so―and you know it, you fuckin' know it too, I-I know y'do."
"Satoru! So close, please d-don't stop," you yelped, walls constricting around his length.
"Y-Yeah, pretty, I know, fuck―I know, sweet thing. I got you," Satoru panted and tightened his grip on the back of your head as if to brace for impact. "Y'do know how to drive me fuckin' crazy, with―mh, you're so soft and pretty, m-makes me want to quit the business, make you my own, God, make you my pretty wife."
Satoru's mind was running on overdrive, trying to keep up with what the fuck he was saying and making sure you felt good, as good as him. No easy task.
"Shit, gonna make you mine, I promise, fuck―"
His his stuttered as he spilled himself inside you, crying out like a wounded animal. It felt too good, it was too much.
Satoru kept going, although fucked out of his mind, determined to make you cum. He lapped up the sweat from your neck, not caring if it was nasty, while he reached down to your clit once more, slapping the sensitive bud a few times, stopping when he felt your cunt constrict and clench around him, a nice little ring of creamy mixed arousal forming at the base of his cock, gliding down your ass and spilling on the bedsheets.
"Such a mess, oh my God," Satoru whined.
He gathered some on two of his fingers, wiping it right off of your skin. "Taste it f'me, pretty," Satoru groaned.
He could have ascended to heaven right then as you wrapped your lips around his digits, glossy eyes peering up at him through your lashes.
